Professor Blood (Ironwrought Book 2) Read online

  “Fuck you.” Brandon tugged Quinn’s pants open, pushed his hand down his briefs. Quinn’s cock ground along his palm, cool and heavy. When he pulled it out, its tip glistened, pushing past his foreskin. Brandon’s mouth went dry.

  “Will you really? You don’t seem... capable,” Quinn breathed. “Of any kind of fucking.”

  “Do you have to be a pain in the ass?” Brandon gripped Quinn’s cock, squeezed it so hard Quinn groaned, thrusting helplessly into his hand.

  “Let me in your ass, and you tell me.”

  No way in hell. Brandon pushed his fist down Quinn’s cock, so its flushed length strained up from his grip, desperate for touch. Quinn shuddered. “Not in control now, are you?” Brandon whispered. “I didn’t think you’d get wet for a hunter.”

  “You seem to think you’re in control,” Quinn gasped. He fucked up into Brandon’s hand, his cheeks a dusky red. “For all you know... you’re doing this to my whim.”

  Why the fuck was he still talking to a goddamn vampire?

  “I’m doing this my way,” Brandon snarled, baring his teeth. Quinn needed to lose that smirk.

  He released Quinn’s cock, pulled his own pants open with his free hand. Then he slipped his cock out. Quinn’s gaze raked hot over it, and Brandon leaned in, ground their bare cocks together, skin on silky skin, Quinn’s precome slippery between them. Pleasure hummed through his body.

  “Very nice,” Quinn purred, his trapped hands straining against Brandon’s. “After all that dallying, I was starting to think you weren’t capable—”

  Brandon shoved his hips up, slamming Quinn into the door, their cocks trapped together.

  “Say that again,” Brandon murmured. Quinn groaned, his hips canting up, his cock straining against Brandon’s. And Brandon thrust back at him, watching as Quinn choked on his breath. The pressure between them built. Precome oozed from Brandon’s tip, smearing over Quinn’s cock.

  “I’d give you a D minus,” Quinn gasped, his eyes half-lidded, his lips bitten red. “Do you think this pleases me?”

  “You’re three seconds from coming,” Brandon snarled. “Stop your bullshit.”

  “Never.”

  Brandon growled, shoving his throbbing cock at Quinn’s. “Shut—your—damn—mouth.”

  Quinn groaned, his breath staggering, his cock so damn hard. Brandon reached between them, grasping both their cocks. He slid against Quinn, pushing up against his flushed head. Quinn shuddered, cock pulsing. Then Brandon stroked him slow and firm, and Quinn came with a cry, his spine arching, legs trembling, white spurts streaking onto Brandon’s shirt and fist and cock.

  Gods, Brandon thought, the pressure in his own cock swelling. He’d never had anyone this sensitive, never had anyone squirm against him, panting and needy and so desperate. He stroked them harder, fucking against the thick length of Quinn’s cock, until breathless pleasure crashed over him, made him tense, his own come splattering onto Quinn’s clothes.

  Brandon panted, trying to recover. Quinn’s smirk had fallen away.

  In that moment, Quinn looked utterly helpless, almost lost, and it was the first time Brandon had seen a vampire vulnerable. Quinn sagged against the door, the smugness and desperation fading from his eyes.

  He was beautiful, in a delicate sort of way.

  What the hell am I thinking? He’s a goddamn vampire! Brandon shook his thoughts away. The knife was on the floor. He could pick it up now, slide it between Quinn’s ribs. And he would’ve done something right, after those vampires had escaped the night before.

  But if he killed the professor, he wouldn’t learn what he’d paid hard-earned money for. He’d signed up for the vampire’s classes, gotten his approval to join the research group.

  And here they were, their cocks pressed together, smeared with come.

  Brandon released Quinn, backing away, horror shooting up his spine. He’d just fucked a vampire. And liked it. And so had Quinn, hadn’t he, when he’d been grinding right back, his lips quirked in a smile?

  “I can’t believe this,” Brandon rasped. He’d just touched a vampire with his cock. How wrong was that?

  Quinn frowned, rubbing his wrists where Brandon had gripped them. “What... What the hell did we just do?”

  “You’re asking me.”

  “You seemed to know,” the professor said, narrowing his eyes at Brandon’s cock. “You were eager to put that somewhere.”

  “You were trying to fuck me,” Brandon snapped, shoving his dick back in his pants. “I can’t believe you’d go for students.”

  The professor’s shoulders tensed. “You’re... really a student.”

  “I’ve told you that a hundred times.”

  “Two, to be precise. We don’t exaggerate in this field—probably something you should learn.” Quinn tucked his gleaming cock back into his briefs, then slid the zipper of his pants over it. “For a hunter, you seem far too interested in my... extremities.”

  Brandon yanked his gaze back to Quinn’s, heat surging through his cheeks. “Just wanted to know if you’re... deformed. Or inadequate. I wasn’t expecting much from a vampire.”

  “But it pleased you.” Quinn smirked, glancing at the come stains on his shirt. “You put a lot of... effort into that experiment.”

  Brandon wasn’t thinking about the way he’d fucked Quinn, his hips heaving, their cocks shoving together. No. That was just... an investigation. “I get the best results that way.”

  Quinn smiled. “Very well. And since I’m a professor, you’re henceforth banned from my classes.”

  Brandon’s stomach dropped. “What the fuck?”

  “I’m sure the other departments will find something suitable for you,” the professor said. His gaze dropped to the papers on his desk. “If you’re a student like you claim to be, I’m sure the college will want to keep your tuition fees rolling in.”

  You can’t just ban me like that. Brandon’s mind raced. “You approved me for the research project.”

  Quinn’s eyes hardened. “Then I will disapprove your application.”

  Brandon thought about the escaped vampires, the unseen ones still lurking around in San Luis Obispo. Then he thought about his dead parents, his mom smiling as she baked cakes, his dad in the garage cobbling together a chair. Fury snarled in his gut.

  He needed to learn more about vampires. “If you’re banning me from those classes, I’ll expose you to the Dean,” he growled. “The whole school will know you’re a vampire.”

  Quinn narrowed his eyes. “I’ve been here twenty years. Your word weighs like a feather next to mine.”

  “Not if I call the feds,” Brandon said. He did have a contact, a private number that sent him texts every two weeks. He’d never bothered to find out who it was, though.

  The professor gritted his teeth; Brandon could almost see him comparing his risks. “You are connected to the feds,” Quinn muttered, annoyance flashing across his face. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

  The vampire stepped forward, his tread measured. And Brandon held his breath as Quinn stopped inches away, golden eyes boring into his.

  He took a chance. If the vampire was a teacher at heart, if he cared more about his students than their backgrounds... “Because I’m here to study. If you let me into your research group, I’ll keep your secrets.”

  Quinn sucked in a slow breath. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with a hunter,” he said. He scrutinized Brandon, his lips pulling thin. “Very well. But one wrong move, and you’ll be dead.”

  Brandon relaxed ever so slightly. It had gone easier than he’d expected. “Fine.”

  He edged away from the vampire, picking up his knife. Its weight was reassuring in his hand; he could kill the professor with one well-aimed stab. Instead, he held it to his side, reaching for the door.

  “You should know that your enrollment depends on your class participation,” Quinn murmured, his gaze flickering over Brandon’s damp clothes. “If you w
alk in late again, Mr. Fashion Show, you’ll be dropping out either way.”

  Brandon glowered. “I was fixing a bus in the rain, damn you.”

  Quinn blinked, his mouth falling open. He recovered after a moment. “Fix the earlier bus, then. I don’t tolerate lateness.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if the entire class hates you,” Brandon said, narrowing his eyes. All vampires were the same. He hated all of them.

  The last thing he saw, as he left the office, was Quinn’s wry smile, and his eyes glimmering with scorn.

  4

  Quinn

  Two days later, the heat of Brandon’s body still lingered on his skin.

  Quinn leaned into his seat, staring at his laptop screen. Brandon’s furious email stared back at him. You said you emailed about the lab group tour this Friday. I didn’t receive that email.

  Of course he didn’t receive it. Quinn had taken his email address off the list before he’d sent the first email. And because he’d been jerking off when he sent the next email—thinking about Brandon—he’d forgotten to craft a separate email for that bastard.

  Brandon caught that mistake. And now Quinn had to include him on the group tour, too. He hadn’t sent the email with the details yet, though.

  Instead, he’d been thinking about Brandon again. What he looked like with his jeans off. His thighs would be nicely muscled, his ass firm.

  Quinn groaned, rubbing his hand over his face. This was unacceptable.

  Maybe if he prowled around the city more, maybe if he fed on actual human prey, he wouldn’t be so fixated on that hunter. But Quinn never touched another human if he could, and... Brandon had been plastered all over him, the wall of his body firm against Quinn, the planes of his chest solid behind his shirt.

  And his cock—well.

  Brandon Remy was a student. Quinn had checked. After he’d left, Quinn had dug out his Basics of Blood class roster. Then his Blood Synthesis group list. Brandon Remy had been on both of them. If he were merely a hunter, he would’ve killed Quinn and left. Or stayed completely undercover until he struck.

  Instead, he’d blown his cover, bargained—unfairly—for a place in the research group. And Quinn recognized his desire to learn. Even though Brandon was a threat, he wanted to know more about Quinn’s projects. He’d even spared Quinn’s life, perhaps not knowing how weak Quinn really was.

  Maybe he was part of an elaborate plan to gain Quinn’s trust. But it wasn’t as though Quinn had anything to offer, other than a prototype of artificial blood.

  So Brandon was a student, as far as Quinn could tell. And he had one hell of a body. It hadn’t helped when he’d stepped into the lecture hall, drenched clothes clinging to his torso.

  Quinn shivered. He shouldn’t even be thinking about this. He was a professor. And he was bound by his honor and his profession not to sleep with the people he taught.

  Yet, he had arched against Brandon, grinding desperately against him, Brandon’s cock sliding thick and heavy against his own. And that had been the most humiliating, wonderful orgasm Quinn had received in the past twenty years. Maybe thirty. Brandon’s come had dribbled all over him, and it had been lewd, messy, exciting. His cheeks prickled with shame.

  “What have you done?” Quinn muttered. He shoved his hand down between his legs, adjusting his cock. The hum of pleasure was nothing compared to Brandon’s touch, and that man had tried to kill him.

  No more thinking about Brandon. Even if their next class together was tomorrow. Quinn couldn’t fathom standing in the same lecture hall as that man, knowing their cocks had pressed together, skin on skin. Mostly, it was because he wanted it again. Wanted to feel Brandon’s naked body against his, strength in his muscles, his heart thrumming with life—

  His phone rang.

  Quinn jumped. He grabbed the phone, jabbing the Answer button.

  “Hello,” he said, realizing he probably should’ve looked at the caller ID first.

  “We’re here,” Seb said across the line. “Which lab are you in?”

  “Blood Synthesis,” Quinn said. The campus should probably have better security, but Quinn had never really needed it. No one had looked closely at him... until Brandon. And it had been that accursed contact lens that had itched; he should’ve swapped it for a new one, spent that extra money on himself.

  “Right,” Seb said. “We’re outside.”

  Quinn ended the call, glancing down at the traitorous bulge in his pants. He had no reason to get hard. Even if Brandon was broad-shouldered, his hazel eyes sharp, his lips soft and—

  “Shut up,” Quinn said. “Stop thinking about him.”

  I wouldn’t be surprised if the entire class hates you.

  Quinn rounded his desk, pushing Brandon’s voice out of his mind. Brandon was a student. And a hunter. He was exactly the kind of person who would find Quinn’s guts repulsive.

  When he stepped out of the office, Seb and his human were waiting by the lab door. Quinn nodded at them. The last time he’d parted ways with Seb, they’d been at a barren crossroads, horses galloping toward them, trailing clouds of dust into the air. Seb had flown north, to Minnesota. Quinn had fled west, to California.

  There had been a third and fourth and fifth, vampires scattered across the United States like lost gems.

  “I didn’t think you’d find the lab so easily,” Quinn said. “The campuses these days are a maze.”

  “It wasn’t confusing. Oriel, this is Quinn. Quinn, Oriel.” Seb slipped his arm around Oriel’s waist, tugging him further into the lab. Unlike Quinn, Seb had broad shoulders, kind of like Brandon. His human was slim—thin, even—like Quinn.

  Oriel watched Quinn warily, his hand inches away from the holster at his waist. Similar to one Brandon had worn.

  Stop thinking about him. Quinn dragged a couple of wooden stools from under the benches. To Oriel, he said, “You really needn’t be afraid. If you thought Seb’s the worst blood-drinker, you now know me.”

  Seb chuckled, pulling his sunglasses off. His ruby-red eyes met Quinn’s. “Still not drinking? Last I saw, you had gold eyes.”

  “There’s such a thing as contact lenses,” Quinn said. “I’m visiting a farm later today. They have some chicken blood for me.”

  Oriel stared at him, then at Seb. “How did you even find other vampires like you?” he asked. “The ones who don’t drink?”

  Seb chuckled. “If you’re a minority, you find your people and stick with them.”

  “There aren’t many of us,” Quinn said. “It’s easier to stay under the radar. What did you need help with?”

  “Oriel’s blood. You’ve heard about him. I still can’t drink it without going into a haze.”

  Quinn studied the human. He smelled bittersweet, like liquor. At the back of his mind, Quinn remembered another scent—salt and caramel, and the sweat on Brandon’s neck.

  “Find your own prey,” Seb said, stepping between them. He narrowed his eyes. “Oriel’s mine.”

  Oriel flushed to the tips of his ears.

  Cute. “I can see why he was wanted,” Quinn said, holding up his hands.

  No doubt that vampires everywhere desired a taste of Oriel’s blood. Quinn had heard. The vampires had fed from Oriel, then gone into a drugged frenzy, trying to kill him. Oriel had killed them instead, and the coven had retaliated, trying to track him down. Then Seb killed the coven leader, and the coven had begun fighting over the leadership position. “Oriel has a scent that... isn’t common.”

  “Find your own human,” Seb said, baring his teeth.

  “Ha! A human? I won’t stoop that low,” Quinn said, pulling a sterile syringe and some vials from a plastic drawer set. “But I will need Oriel’s blood for some tests.”

  “As long as you swear not to drink it,” Seb said.

  Quinn laughed. “Have you met me?”

  “Too many times,” Seb answered, grinning. “Look, I trust you.”

  “I know. And I don’t deserve that privilege.” Quinn snapped
a pair of fresh gloves on, swabbing down the inside of Oriel’s elbow. “Why did you come to me? You could have continued to drink animal blood.”

  “I can. But we’ve been talking about starting a family,” Seb said. “With Oriel’s blood like it is, we can’t risk adopting kids. Sooner or later, someone’s going to target them.” Seb set his hand on Oriel’s shoulder, and the look they exchanged brimmed with warmth.

  Quinn glanced away. He shouldn’t have witnessed that; he hadn’t been that close to a human. Hadn’t really wanted to endanger anyone with his vampirism. Other vampires would scorn him for drinking chicken blood; humans would hate him for who he was. Like Brandon did.

  His stomach squeezed.

  Quinn tore the syringe out of its wrapper. Oriel flinched, his eyes flickering to the doors. He had to have been pursued relentlessly before he met Seb.

  Belatedly, Quinn remembered that Oriel’s presence was a risk. Once the feds caught wind of him, they’d swarm, and so would the coven. His scalp prickled. The sooner Oriel got out of his lab, the better.

  “I really don’t know about this,” Oriel said, eyeing the needle.

  “You want to head back?” Seb asked.

  For a moment, Oriel hesitated. Then he shook his head, extending his arm to Quinn. “We’ll get this over with.”

  He scrunched his eyes shut, and Seb stood, cradling Oriel’s head against his abs.

  The needle slid in easily. Quinn heard the loud thump of Oriel’s heart, the pattering of his pulse. The syringe filled with crimson blood—1 ML, 2 ML... Hunger gnawed in his stomach. The plunger hit the 5 ML mark. Quinn could almost taste the bittersweet notes of that blood, and his mouth watered. Concentrate.

  He pressed a wad of cotton to where steel met skin. When he slid the needle out, the scent of bittersweet copper burst through the air, tantalizing and potent.

  Quinn thought about Brandon’s blood instead, swearing inwardly. He shouldn’t have tasted it. He should’ve had some shred of self-control, instead of leaning in, licking at Brandon’s wound. Those droplets of salty-sweet blood had smeared in his mouth, tasting like burnt sugar, and it had been an explosion of flavor across his tongue.